A Most Scandalous Proposal (39 page)

Julia balanced herself on both feet, shoulders dropping to their usual position. “Apologize?”

“For pushing you at Clivesden. I had my heart set on you—both of you—gaining titles. But I understand now.”

“Understand what? That I could not hurt Sophia by allowing myself to follow along like a sheep and bend to your wishes?” The words were harsh, but they only
mirrored Julia’s feelings. How could her mother be so blind to such a simple truth?

“Well, yes.” Mama cast her eyes downward. “No, there’s more than that.”

“What else could there be?”

“I’ve been so incredibly blind. I ought to be happy for you. If you can’t have a title, at least you’ve made a love match.”

At last, she dared meet her mother’s gaze. Sincerity shone in Mama’s blue irises, and Julia felt suddenly buoyant. Her heels lifted from the floorboards, and she touched the back of Mama’s gloved hand. “I’m glad you finally see.”

She cast a longing glance up the aisle at Benedict, who raised questioning brows. “I must go. They’re waiting for me.”

The pale peach silk skirts of an old ball gown rustled as she made her way to Benedict’s side. She arrived at the front of the church and laid her hand in the crook of his elbow, delighting in the warmth and vitality that emanated from him.

He leaned over to murmur directly into her ear. “What did your mother want? Trying to talk you into changing your mind at the last minute?”

Julia suppressed a smile at the delicious shiver his warm breath stirred to life. “And cause even more of a scandal? Heaven forfend.”

J
ULIA
watched as Benedict dipped the quill into the ink. Her eye followed each swoop as he scratched his name onto the parish register. Such a strong, firm hand to match the strength and starkness of his name.

A name which now belonged to her.

Their fingers brushed as he handed the quill over, and heat streaked up her arm. Awareness of the slightest casual
touch consumed her and filled her mind with thoughts of the coming night, and all the other nights stretching ahead of her, one after the other, to fill out the years of their future.

The quill trembled in her fingers as she signed her name below his. She blinked at the register, at the glistening of the drying ink on the page. It was done now. Julia and Benedict, forever united in matrimony.

His fingers slid along her wrist, searching to twine with hers. He lifted her hand and laid it in its proper place—on his arm. “Ready to face the crowd?”

She lifted her eyes to his. “What crowd?”

“You cannot imagine the gossip hasn’t made the rounds, can you? I’m sure more than one member of the
ton
has decided to take a constitutional this morning and wander past Hanover Square. Mere chance, of course.”

“Of course.” She fell into step beside him, following her sister and her parents in the direction of the door. “They’ll want to catch a glimpse of Highgate.”

“And the young lady some idiot threw five thousand pounds away on.”

“You mean that scandalous trollop?”

“Hush, you’re still in church.” He grinned at her and lowered his voice. “You might want to use a milder term. I recall a certain affinity for the word strumpet.”

She waved a hand. “Never to refer to myself.”

His grin broadened, taking on a rather evil bent. “If you take it into your head to act the strumpet on occasion—just for me—I don’t think I’ll mind.”

She raised both brows and assumed what she hoped was an appropriate expression of innocence. “Hush, you’re still in church.”

But at that moment, they stepped over the threshold and onto the columned portico. “Not anymore.”

S
UCH
a crowd of gawkers. Not that the size of the gathering ought to have shocked him. Benedict had lived his whole life among these people, long enough to know how quickly word spread through the
ton
and how much its members enjoyed a spectacle.

After all, it wasn’t every day a man married off two such notoriously reluctant daughters as the St. Claire sisters—and under such scandalous circumstances. The gossips would have enough fodder to last them until Christmas.

Too bad the weather had decided to cooperate for once. A few rays of weak sunlight, their warmth nearly palpable, broke through the clouds to cast their benediction on the nuptials. Given his choice, Benedict would have preferred a drenching downpour.

He scowled at Lady Epperley, who held court firmly at the front, peering at them through her lorgnette. Lady Posselthwaite craned her neck to see past the dowager’s bonnet. In the next instant, she let out a squawk, as Lady Epperley’s elbow made contact with her ribs, the movement so rapid, Benedict was not quite sure he’d actually seen anything.

Suppressing a grin, he ushered Julia past the columns of the façade toward the waiting carriage. He had plans for her, none of which involved exchanging insincere pleasantries with various and sundry passing acquaintances. Julia had expressed a desire for their future happiness, and he intended to start with her happiness.

Or at the very least, her pleasure.

A ripple passed through the onlookers. Some sort of commotion erupted farther down the street. Heads turned. Even Lady Epperley directed her attention away from a beaming Sophia to face the disturbance. Good.
Perhaps they could make their escape from Town without any further ado while the
ton
found something new to talk about.

“I say, Revelstoke!” Upperton’s voice carried over the heads of the assembly. Nudging the gathering aside, he made his way to Benedict’s carriage. “You cannot leave without your wedding present.”

“What present?”

Beside him, Julia craned her neck. Upperton clutched a length of rope in his fist, a lead, actually. Benedict followed it with this eye to the source of the commotion. Standing behind Upperton, Nefertari tossed her proud head. With a snuffle, she took an ambling step forward to nose at Upperton’s pockets.

“What’s this?” Benedict asked, disbelieving.

Upperton held out the lead. “It’s your wedding present.”

“What have you done? You cannot expect me to believe Clivesden, of all people, has sent me a token of his esteem to mark the day.”

“Of course he hasn’t. He was, however, all too happy to part with this nag in lieu of paying his debt to me. Beyond what he owed, she was costing him a fortune in oats.”

Benedict swallowed and then swallowed again. It would not do for him to put on a display of emotion in front of the
ton
’s premiere gossips.

Julia leaned across him, the better to take in the proceedings, and the softness of her breast pressed against his arm. “What’s this?”

He had to clear his throat before he could reply. “Remember when we were in Kent, and I told you I was in the market for bloodstock?” At her nod, he gestured toward Nefertari. “There’s my bloodstock.”

“But what does Clivesden have to do with any of it?”

“He outbid me in the auction. It seems he took it into his head to present you with a saddle horse.”

Julia’s laughter rang out over the scene. Nefertari snorted and pawed the ground. “After I told him horses made me sneeze, you’d think he’d have taken the hint.”

Benedict’s cheeks stretched in a grin. “You told him that?”

“He wanted to take me riding in the park. It was all I could think of to get rid of him.”

Benedict held her gaze. Such a lovely smile she had. It spread across the whole of her face until she glowed with happiness. “You could have told him the truth, that you don’t ride.”

“And have him offer me lessons?”

He cleared his throat. “You’re absolutely right there. I’m the only one who ought to give you riding lessons.”

A discreet cough forced him to look away. Upperton thrust the lead into his hand. “If the pair of you want to get on with … things, I suggest you take your wedding present and be off.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

Upperton shrugged. “The least I could do.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Now off with you. I expect there to be a little Revelstoke before this time next year. Don’t forget to put him down for Eton.”

With a wink, Upperton melted back into the crowd. Benedict handed Nefertari off to a footman with orders to attach her to their carriage and turned to find roses blooming in Julia’s cheeks. He cast a glance at the crowd and grinned down at her. Taking her by the waist, he pulled her into a lazy kiss. A collective gasp rose from the gawkers, punctuated by the inevitable
snap
of a lorgnette.

“I don’t know when I’ve ever seen a more disgraceful display of affection,” Lady Epperley grumbled. “In my day, husbands and wives showed each other a suitable level of indifference.”

When he released his bride, the color in her cheeks had deepened, but her eyes sparkled with promise. He ushered her toward the conveyance, but he had to wait while she pulled her sister into a warm hug. He tamped down his impatience and shook Highgate’s hand, but his mind was elsewhere.

A little Revelstoke. Yes. For once, Upperton had come up with a good scheme, one Benedict intended on putting into immediate action.

A project of the breadth of a full-length novel is never undertaken alone. I owe a huge debt of thanks and love to the following:

To Carrie, Caryl, Clemence, Lizzie, and Marian for being my first readers and telling me when my ideas are worth pursuing.

To the members of the Hearts Through History Romance Writers critique group for catching my stupid typos, constant repetition, and extra spaces, and for making me push myself to improve.

To the Lalalas, sisters and brother, for unfailing encouragement and support. More specifically to Valerie Bowman for bringing us together, and to Carla Kempert, aka God, for kicking my behind when it most needed it.

To Vanessa Kelly for challenging me.

To Sara Megibow for being the most awesome, enthusiastic agent an author could ask for.

To Caitlin and Junessa for all your help and encouragement.

To my husband and daughters for putting up with a messy house and less-than-inspired suppers (why, yes, we are having spaghetti again) so I can write.

By Ashlyn Macnamara

Published by Ballantine Books

L
ONDON
, 1820
         

I
F THE
key to announcing bad news lay in the timing, George Upperton’s mistress knew when to deliver.

“What’s that?” Some odd emotion invaded the haze of post-coital bliss, and he rolled to his side. “For a moment there, I could have sworn you told me you were with child.”

Lucy Padgett closed her long-lashed eyelids. Strawberry blond hair tumbled over her bare shoulders and breasts as she ducked her head. “I did.”

Like a fist to the gut, her affirmation sent the air rushing from his lungs. He frowned and pushed himself up on one elbow. “Are you certain? This could make for a very bad joke.”

She shifted to her back, arms crossed, and her eyes snapped open, sparkling with blue fire. “Joke?” Her usual melodic tones hardened to ice. “This isn’t a joke. How could you be so cold-hearted as to question me?”

“I only …” The fist was still planted in his gut. It settled into the pit of his stomach, hard and leaden, yet managed to expand until breathing became a chore. He pulled a lungful of air in through his nose and tried again. “I thought it took a while before a woman knew.”

“It’s been two months since I last had my courses. They’ve never been late before.”

George counted back the days in his head. Two months … eight weeks … A lot could happen to a man
in that time. In his particular case, a lot
had
happened. Quite enough to drive from his mind thoughts of Lucy claiming she was indisposed.

Watching, stunned, while an old school chum put a pistol in his mouth tended to do that to a man.

“I thought …”

She wasn’t going to like his next comment, but damn it, he had to say it. They weren’t likely to pass the rest of the evening in more agreeable fashion. Not after her announcement. The mere thought of engaging in additional bed sport now made that weight in his gut twist until he rather felt like casting up his accounts.

“I thought you’d taken the usual precautions.”

“Precautions?” She yanked the sheet free of the mattress and wrapped herself in it, the same way she draped herself in indignation. “Precautions?” She squeaked a high note on the final syllable. “You know very well the usual precautions are no guarantee. Last I looked, I didn’t create a brat all on my own. I had help.”